


Waves

by HolyEmpress



Series: The psyqualia Miwa collection [3]
Category: Cardfight!! Vanguard
Genre: Anal Sex, Comfort Sex, M/M, blowjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-07-15 09:18:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7216603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolyEmpress/pseuds/HolyEmpress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hmm, well, it's not quite so easy to preface porn. Maybe because all I cared about the most within this wasn't really the sexy part? I'm not even quite sure there is a sexy part, considering it's a very character-focused comfort sex piece.<br/>After Miwa and Kai both leave his appartment, Ren is kinda left to linger about what happened between them all, and I do think it's extreme enough that even Ren would feel regrets.</p><p>It's really weird because... deep down, it's mostly about how the both of them really care about each other, about that pleasant trust, familiarity that I think would be a part of their relationship. I headcanon Ren as Kai's first boyfriend & vice versa so it was kinda important to write this into this piece. I hope I made it well enough that you can kinda get a feel of how I headcanon their dynamic?<br/>(If I didn't, let's hope my low-quality content will at least enable some other people to write better KaiRen, fingers crossed.)</p><p>Have fun reading ! o.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Waves

**Author's Note:**

> Hmm, well, it's not quite so easy to preface porn. Maybe because all I cared about the most within this wasn't really the sexy part? I'm not even quite sure there is a sexy part, considering it's a very character-focused comfort sex piece.  
> After Miwa and Kai both leave his appartment, Ren is kinda left to linger about what happened between them all, and I do think it's extreme enough that even Ren would feel regrets.
> 
> It's really weird because... deep down, it's mostly about how the both of them really care about each other, about that pleasant trust, familiarity that I think would be a part of their relationship. I headcanon Ren as Kai's first boyfriend & vice versa so it was kinda important to write this into this piece. I hope I made it well enough that you can kinda get a feel of how I headcanon their dynamic?  
> (If I didn't, let's hope my low-quality content will at least enable some other people to write better KaiRen, fingers crossed.)
> 
> Have fun reading ! o.

They had been at it for quite a while now, sorting the countless clothes together in neat, organized piles of « keep », « give » and « burn » (the last one was Ren's idea – not that he disagreed with it, as it was straighforward enough to get the point across).  
He'd texted him only when he was already in front of the Foo Fighter's building. Out of cowardice, but Ren didn't seem to mind the lack of an advance notice. He had welcomed him warmly, offered to serve him a cup of coffee – I'd rather have tea, if you don't mind, before asking the reason behind his visit, and he had pretended not to hear the words unsaid behind his question. Both Miwa and him had deserted Ren's appartment, which had become a lonely palace once again. He worried, sometimes, that his old friend resented him for that, disappointed in his unability to change and become a better person, one who wouldn't leave, but he knew how to recognize Ren's bitterness, and it simply wasn't there – he'd served tea and biscuits with a sincere smile, babbling in his usual, ever-obnoxious way, doing a pretty good job at ignoring the signs of anxiousness on his face and had very patiently waited for him to muster the courage to explain why he'd come.  
The courage had been hard to find, but he'd finally ended up saying it in simple words – he was there to get Miwa's clothes back. Ren didn't have to know the full story, a story he could probably guess for the most part ; after all, he saw his ex-boyfriend almost everyday of the week, and was observant and smart enough to notice the black eye, fresh bruises and deduce the rest.  
(He'd come too late to prevent his Hitsue classmates from beating him up – because white dresses weren't fit for monsters, they'd said, and Miwa had smiled before accepting the final punch to his face.)

He'd insisted to do it himself – and Ren had happily tagged along, which had raised a bit of suspicion in his heart. Ren hated chores, always leaving them to Asaka and Tetsu while he spent hours lazing around in his bed, completing every single achievement on his favorite games, so it was particularly unlikely that he'd volunteer for such a tedious task – what used to be Miwa's private dressing room, in his appartment, was huge and filled to the brim with clothes to sort out, yet he had been pretty enthusiastic so far, and, most of all, helpful.  
The « burn » box was filled to the brim with the all the dresses he associated with bad memories, without him having to do anything with it. Ren simply knew, and distracted him from that particular task too by asking him instead about whichever skirts, scarves and shoes he found the nicest, humoring him from time to time – you still like this cutesy stuff way too much, don't you ? With a warm smile before resuming his efforts. He wasn't being very responsive, but that much didn't seem to bother Ren, who just observed him with discretly, when he got lost in thoughts, reminiscing – some dresses were harder than some other, and had him biting his lips as he tried to fight the memories, staring at the wall until he'd manage to collect himself.  
Ren doesn't ask why Miwa wasn't the one who had come to take care of this matter, to spare him the needless pain – he knew just too well how stubborn he could be in this regard, when it came to suffering for redemption. Truth is, Miwa's sad eyes, when he'd requested this service from him had been enough of a reason, that and the fact that he'd been spending every single afternoon taking care of him ever since that day – it hurt his pride, to be so needy and helpless, but Miwa was exceptionally patient with him. They did homework together, Miwa going over coursework as many times as he needed to until he could be sure he understood it. He was slow, very much so, not so much because of the difficulty of the material – he'd just gotten terrible at focusing on anything, and couldn't catch up all of the classes he'd missed, no matter how much he tried. It felt like a meaningless fight, but Miwa's presence was helping him still. Then, afterwards, they would move on to making dinner together – it's not like you to survive on microwavable meals had been Miwa's excuse to force him into the kitchen again, with more or less sucess. They stuck to making simple dishes that took little time, healthy food that could get him back on his feets again – he wasn't quite ready yet to go further than that yet.  
Then, without fault, Miwa would leave after two hours – but, just that one time, he'd turned back before closing the door to ask him, if, maybe, he thought there was a way to get some of his dresses back.  
I'd just like to wear them again sometimes. 

Eventually, they finish arranging the clothes in the fitting boxes. « Keep » is small, but lovelier than any of the others, filled to the brim with beautiful dresses, frilly skirts and comfortable shoes in a wide range of pastel colors, as well as some accessories he knew Miwa missed – scarves and hairclips, mostly. He doesn't mind « give » either – they'd put all of the more revealing items in this one, the outfits he'd only worn once for Ren's satisfaction rather than his own, and fancy designers dresses that wouldn't find their place in his bedroom's closet. It was fine.  
But the sight of the « burn » box is harder to withstand – it was only the smallest things that hurt the most, the patterns he'd stared into from up close as his mouth was pressed against the floor that just brought back the taste of blood onto his tongue, the piece of fabric he'd hung unto as he tried to find his way into the dark, blindfolded and fighting the fear and the impression that everything from his face to his heart was bleeding dry against the drapes of his unsafe bed. 

So he moves away from it - the dressing room featured a wide mirror, that he finds himself drawn to, somehow, maybe also because of the memories attached to it. Miwa had stood there countless times, preparing himself before what had ended up being hours and hours of pain and torture for him – making sure that his outfit was nice enough for the occasion.  
The words echo in his end endlessly as he stands in his place – the occasions, the countless occasions he'd had to go the bathroom to spit out blood and watch himself in the bathroom's mirror, on the very opposite end of the appartment.  
Occasions, he'd missed, too, to stop the massacre because it was too late.

\- Kai, Ren interrupts him, putting his hands on his shoulders.  
The redhair was standing behind him – taller, and immensely calmer than him, smiling, but he feels heart start to race, because having people behind his back wasn't exactly a situation he was comfortable in anymore, and especially when that person was Ren who held just too much power over him.  
(first love and most hurtful one shared their reign upon his heart)  
\- Relax, he says, I'm not going to hurt you.

He wasn't used to immediate, explicit reassurance coming from him, but he trusts his word and lets down his guard – as much as he can.  
So Ren starts massaging his tense shoulders.  
He know he's improvising – as always, the redhair liked to fake skills he didn't have, pretending to speak spanish or french whenever they'd go to fancy hotels during the Asia circuit, or winning teachers over when they were younger with origamis he'd invented on the spot. It was annoying, yet somewhat endearing, that Ren simply didn't believe himself to be unable to do anything. It just came spontaneously, as Ren's primary talent maybe was, most of all, to just live his life artfully. What surprises him, though, is that the massage is unprompted. 

\- I might have gotten a little caught up into all of this, he declares suddenly, avoiding direct glances at the mirror as the words go through his lips, pretending to be focused on his shoulders.  
So that was his motive – and admitting defeat is so unlike him that it he eases him up a little more. They never said, never mentionned out loud what they felt to each others, back in the days, back in forever – communicating through endless fighting because they just didn't knew better, couldn't do better, but such battles had become impossible, now that he'd grown so fragile, so they had to find a new way, to simply keep talking like their hands and flames used to.  
It was just weird that Ren would be the one to take the first step. 

\- You can be just too beautiful sometimes.  
The compliment sounds regretful – but he understands, somehow, that in Ren's eyes, he had been cursed with something desirable and deadly at the same time, a charm that made his blood shine like a soft sunset whenever it flowed, that made his pain loveable. Yes, he understood completly that Ren could have gotten caught up in the contemplation, admiring his bruises like an artistic landscapes of blues and red, could have reveled in the pleasure of seeing his face in tears, destroying the very same masterpiece he'd spent a lifetime cherishing, because « too beautiful » meant there was an excess that needed to be corrected. It had never been a matter of hate.  
But Ren, just like Miwa, liked to make things right. 

He finishes his pseudo-massage to move his hands up through his hair, running his fingers through the brown mass gently – he shivers and tenses up again, and feels awful about it, because Ren had no intention of hurting him, but his reluctance doesn't seem to offend the redhair who simply continues his slow gestures until he manages to let go a little. It's awfully hard – strange, too, because no word is exchanged, but Ren decides to pull the fabric of his shirt a little to start leaving small kisses down his shoulders, and it doesn't feel wrong, and he doesn't wants to make it stop, even when his lips brush again old bruises and scarred skin. He takes a second to look at the mirror, to see just how pathetic he looks.  
What he sees is a prey, through the fear in his own eyes, the shock and the cruel realization that he'd grown terrified of affection itself – what Ren was currently doing was nothing compared to what they would do each other back in their dating days, yet still, he couldn't handle it right now.  
And in the same mirror, he also sees – the ghost of the leash Miwa used to force onto him, still tightly hugging his neck, and suffocating him slowly with its phantom embrace. He remembered – in images too vivid and too clear, the feeling of leather on in skin and shame spreading in his heart like poison. He'd only suffered it twice – because Miwa was so quick to lose interest, back then, in the games he played on him - but it still haunted him, followed him deep into nightmares he'd woke from breathless and unsure on whether he'd really escaped this hell, checking his neck obsessively until the fear would go away.  
It rarely did – because it was there, strangling him, coming back in his most peaceful moments, and Ren's kisses surely qualified as such, as he was making a point not to break any of his fragile, precious limits, by going steadily and softly, but his best efforts weren't enough to prevent the ache in his his heart, the inevitable shortness in his breath, and the shame, more than anything.  
He knew why Ren was doing this.  
Because the Kai he remembered loved to be kissed – loved to be loved, and he loved him too.

So Ren takes it upon himself to distract him further from his obvious troubles, deciding to run his hand under his shirt to caress his waist and chest – pulling him very much closer to his own body. He gasps in surprise – for the second, the image of the leash around his neck vanishes, and the present is only about Ren's fingers pressing again in skin, about the long trails of shivers they leave behind them, about the fact that he can hear, feel his steady breathing aligning with his. There are kisses again, sloppier than before, and Ren's rythm, settling in, between the motions of his lips and hands, starts embracing his whole body.  
\- I don't feel like… he barely manages to say, struggling to keep his eyes open.  
He's certain of what will happen if he doesn't make him stop now, but very much unsure if he actually minds it that much, even if being touched is terryfying, even if he lacks the willpower to reciprocate Ren's ardor in any way – it feels nice, to be enshrouded in his sensual embrace, safer than usual, even more when the redhair lets him go and just takes a few steps to go face him instead, and that, for a second that lasts too long, he misses the caress of his lips. The deep nothingness comes back quicker than he'd expected it to, taking the place of Ren's loving arms, fills the warmth of his presence with dead air, and he chokes again from the inside, fear embracing his every pores, life leaving his body like it had never belonged there in the first place.  
For a second, his ex-boyfriend had managed to make him forget how much it hurt.  
\- Are you sure ? Ren asks, catching the light of pain in his eyes, before pulling him in for a kiss.  
It feels like release, instantaneously – again, it disappears, and now matter how much he knows it's fake, he still enjoys the sweet and sour taste of his lips, the pulsating heart beating under his chest, swirling with passion, hope, joy too. Kissing Ren made him happy, in a confusing way.  
So what he'd said was one of the many lies he'd told himself out of fear. He was sure, that he wanted to be kissed, and taken care of, and have sex with him after that.  
Just a little bit of easy happiness, of fast pleasure before he could go back to being a slave to flashbacks and trauma, wearing a collar of shame that the redhair's finger had yet managed to undo without a word.  
He answers his kiss - so Ren keeps going, without hurry, to give him some time to think it through.  
It always had been their agreement – that they could push the other away anytime, as forcefully as they'd fell appropriate to, if they didn't want it. That both Ren and him could take a no at, without needing a reason, because uneasyness could take a long time to settle in, because he was exhausted on the regular and Ren, more moody than he was willing to show – and most of all, because none of them were willing to have any kind of sex that wouldn't be just right.  
He doesn't stop him ; no during the first, nor the second minutes, and not when his hands start wandering again, stroking his chest more forcefully than the first time.  
They weren't dating – but Ren had always been somewhat pushy and arrogant when it came to this, and he eventually starts pushing in other ways, kissing with a force he cannot quite resist, a pleasurable whirlwind of sort.  
And Ren doesn't hesitates, kisses him until he falls on the dressing room's floor, then pushes enough to make him lay on his back again the carpeting, giving up on resistance completly, the redhair towering above him – but it's not a menacing shadow, merely a grey sky of clouds announcing the storm to come and the rain that would wash away the pain.  
They keep kissing in this position, and he finds the strength to participate a little more – to grasp at Ren's neck, pulling onto his hair to keep him close, some strands falling onto his own face, a soft caress in comparison to their burning ardor to keep kissing until they run out of breath.  
There was nothing preventing him from giving in. A sentence crosses his mind.  
He's free, now, for real – even if it doesn't feel like it most of the time.  
And the best thing about kissing Ren is that it doesn't flashback to anything, the present staying solid around his body, overloading his senses, from smell – Ren's fancy cologne, the one he loved – to taste and touch to sight – soft purple eyes - grounding him in the moment.  
More than the rest - Ren's forcefulness spoke differently from Miwa's violence, spreading like a protective veil around his weakened soul, only to steal his pulse away, and bind together again, like magic, the broken pieces of his spirit, of his very self. He was getting into it and starting to feel whole again. The carpet is soft and Ren is familiar, there's not concrete for him to bleed on, and somehow, he feels the permission to get excited.  
To get turned on - sometimes he forgot just how hot Ren could be (and that he still cared about it).  
About his lips, that always felt so full and wet against his own, his perfect skin, almost like silk, and pretty much everything about his body, and his hair – that seemed to fall in the wildest ways and catch every wandering ray of light to make sure he'll keep his eyes on him.  
Knowing he would be there, even after the very worst, reassured his fragile self-esteem. He felt just a little less worthless.  
(maybe they really loved each other boundlessly, or their body did, he wasn't sure.)

After a while, Ren stops the kissing. Gradually, as to make sure not to cause any panic reaction on his side – he's grateful for it, immensely so - then puts a finger on his lips with a playful smile.  
\- Let me just go grab something, he whispers before getting back up – not breaking eye contact until he's past the door.

His heart misses a beat. Even if he knows it's only for less than a few minutes – the sudden awareness of his surroundings is like a punch to his chest, and he realizes, realizes that Miwa's clothes, the ones they would keep, give away or burn were watching them closely. Then, it's the fact that he's laying on his back that gets him.  
Remember how many times he'd bled on the floor, cried on hard concrete and choked on gravel until Miwa decided to take pity on him.  
But the carpet is soft, he repeats in the corner in his mind, but I'm not that weak anymore, it says too, a thousand times until Ren's feets step on the carpeting again,  
He puts the bottle of lube and the box of condoms down, noticing his distress too.

\- Do you want some music ? He asks in an overly sweet tone.  
It wasn't exactly Ren's type of thing – so much that the surprise doesn't leave him time to answer. The redhair gets on his knees, bends over, to whisper in his ears, with his most predatory smile.  
\- Just kidding, I wanna hear your moans.  
His breath is like a soft stroke against his skin, that disconnects the very part of his brain that was in control of his worries and doubt. Next, Ren is pulling the pants off his legs, not wasting a second now that he was so obviously hard and ready to let him control. He wanted to take over – do everything as he would simply lay on his back and answer the calls he was going to make, to the sensor of pleasures spread throughout his body.  
Ren resumes the kissing, leaning down to lick, suck, salivate against his chest as he tries, hastily, to unbutton his shirt - in return, he helps him pull off his oversized sweater once he's within arm's reach, and soon enough, the skin-to-skin contact overwhelms his senses. Ren was always – always so cold and warm as the same time, like an icy burn, an ambiguous kiss, so he lets himself be burned and warmed up again.  
He has very little to do. 

Which is good enough – because his mind is walking a fine line between reality and the blur of painful memories that was waiting to flood his eyes. His brains had come to associate pleasure with fear and warmth with pain – blood, before it left his body, left wide warm cuts on his skin.  
All is energy goes into focusing on Ren, then on Ren's hand when it goes down to starts stroking his thighs – he bites his lips, breathing heavily.  
Ren's messy hair, Ren's daring moves.  
Most of all, his smile – is comfort, in every sense of the word. 

He shivers a little when the redhair's lips come into contact with the shaft of his penis ; especially because Ren decides to tease it first, only licking the tip, giving quick swirls that leave him breathing heavily and aching for something more. The view is beautiful – it's only Ren, holding his dick in his long fingers, head down into his crotch, passionate, and he doesn't feel like a worthless piece of trash, but like someone special and somewhat overwhelmed by the attention.  
But his head doesn't have any room left for thinking when Ren starts taking his dick into his mouth. He dives in, mouth wide open, salivating and teasing every sensitive inch of skin with his tongue until he finally hears the moans he longs for.  
He's loud – maybe because his tense body finally lets go of a day, a week, six and a half month's worth of tension.  
Yet, Ren pauses briefly in the sucking to make eye contact.  
\- Louder, he simply says with his overconfident smile.  
It's an order and a dare and – the next thing he can feel is his shaft rubbing against the back of Ren's throat and the caresses of his hand wandering onto his stomach, gripping. In response, a long moan rises from his own throat, and it doesn't really stop, because keeps making the same motions, his tongue pressing against the sweetest softs, until he finds the need for his finger to grasp into the carpet, reaching closer to his own edge.  
He closes his eyes.  
(Memories don't come, but the warmth is there)  
He doesn't try to hold back anymore, and just lets the sounds naturally come through his lips, finding an harmony in acceptance of the pleasure that keeps rising. His thoughts get progressively clearer, for once, coming into their simplest forms.  
Ren is beautiful ; it feels good ; Ren is beautiful – and it goes on and on for a while, because the redhair goes down slowly on him. It's a bit surprising, that he was so good at gentle sex, when all they had done together was rough fucking, with maybe the exception of his first time (where Ren has been slow and willing to listen, and then, they immediatly had skipped to the angry making out part.) That that moody person he knew so well would be willing to stroke his dick softly before resuming his blowjob, just to get a kick out of that loving tease, just to make sure he wouldn't freak out all of a sudden, pacing himself so expertedly.  
It takes a long time before Ren finally speeds up and – it feels good is an understatement as his fingers barely manage to hold hard enough into the floor. He huffs at every breath.  
Pull my hair, Ren says suddenly, his lips still coated in saliva and precum.

He obeys – no, he takes over, raising his back up so that his hand can grab the red strands and pull everytime he feels the pleasure rise up his crotch, and somehow, the fear of hurting him doesn't cross his mind. Ren could take more – Ren kept taking his dick whole down his throat, salivating more and more as he was starting to receive his own, personal pleasure out of this.  
He stops shortly after, radiating with impatience as he turns to the box of condoms and gives it for him to help him put on – there's no reason in questionning it.  
\- It'll be more comfortable if you switch position, he says with a genuinely concerned expression. Let's not push on your bruises, okay ?  
He's swept away by the shock and – maybe it's because his brain is not quite there, but tears starts forming in the corner of his eyes.

He was so pitiful. Half of the person he used to be and maybe even less and taking so much pleasure in Ren's pity sex, that it should have been a motive of shame, for him – the one who had lived by the very value of pride itself.  
He had none of it left, and his thoughts clashed, his paranoid fear that Ren could be forcing himself to do something he didn't actually liked that much but did, guided by his weird sense of duty, or that Miwa could judge him, could pity him too, for giving into carnal pleasure and coating his wounds with any affection he could get, because he needed to feel loved, desperatly – until he could love himself again.  
Even a little.  
(A little that wasn't even there yet). 

His face distorts into the ugliest expression as he cries and Ren pauses to look at him. He kisses the tears on his left cheek, with his lips still glistening with saliva and body fluids, but it enough to interrupt his sobbing for a second. Next, the redhair runs his hand through his brown hair, and gives a few more, sweet and innocent kisses, under his eyes.  
Then, as they move to sit on the carpet – he doesn't feel like helplessly laying down anymore – he puts his arms around him in a loving embrace and doesn't let go until the tears dry out.  
\- I don't mind taking it slow. After all, I'm still dying to fuck you, he adds with a earnest and joyful laughs, but we can go have tea if you're not having fun.

He takes a deep breath, before the decision becomes clear and he kisses Ren, and almost immediatly, his body finds himself caught in the momentum again. He kisses him deep and wide, almost trying to breathe into his lungs – his hands finds the way to Ren's sweet spots effortlessly, teasing his nipples gently, and he interrupts the kissing to go lower on his body and bite them. He hears Ren whine over him, in that distinctive way that could only indicate he was trying to hold back – so he keeps playing with his nipples, alternating licking, kisses and short, electrifying bites. He'd missed the feeling of Ren's flesh itself, soft, pale and sensitive – and he recognizes his every moans, the way his chest rose and fell to the rythm of his arousal, as always.  
\- That's enough, he objects after a while, pushing him away.  
He prevents himself by falling completly – but his crotch is even more than before within Ren's reach, and he grabs his dick firmly – reaching out for the bottle of lube with his other hand, taking off the lid with his teeth as not to break contact between his hand and his lover's penis nonetheless. He starts stroking it at its base, gently rubbing his thumb against it, to keep him at his mercy as he starts rubbing the lube – first, massaging his penis. The next things Ren does is kiss his feet – and he understands the hint, lifting up his legs to let them rest on the redhair's shoulders, as to let him starts applying the lube onto his asshole, and he feels his body tingling with anticipation when Ren's slides his index down, still fondling him with his other hand. He gives a few thrust to feel it deeper, and to meet the tip of Ren's erection, warm against his buttcheek.  
He was eager to take him in.  
Ren dips a second fingers into the lubrifiant and it slides down just easily as the first one – it feels fuller, not quite enough, but he lets him play, and the handjob is still keeping his head empty trying pointlessly to control his pleasure and not to come top quickly. He wants to tell him – that he's about to come anyway – but Ren cock finally starts teasing its way into his anus, pulling the fingers away to make way for the penetration. He holds his breath – everything about this is a thousand times more intense than the rest, and his body remembers, the shape, the warmth, the rising sensations of Ren inside him. He perceives each thrust distinctively, each time Ren sinks deeper into his ass - without realizing, they're complementing each other's motions perfectly, his entire body on edge as Ren eases in harder, losing his will to take it slow, which is fine by him, because he'd never liked it to take it slow anyway.  
His mouth is gasping for air and his eyes watering again – with tears of pleasure, every inch of his skin tingling ; and expertedly again, Ren gives a few strokes to the base of his coke, just enough to reach the overload he was waiting for – breaching his threshold, and he groans loudly as he climaxes, coming over Ren's fingers, succombing to what seems like a more vivid explosion than usual.  
Everything releases completly – he closes his eyes, and Ren pulls away just a minute later.

He'd never quite found the right way to describe the feeling that came after an orgasm, even when Ren had asked him out of curiosity. For so long, it had simply been that thing he did to put his mind off things, no matter how good it could be between them, but this time, it's very clear.  
It's the feeling of waves washing over the shores, carrying every little grain of sands with slow, peaceful motions – he can almost picture his formless thoughts, rising and falling down, without a sound, only the whisper of the sea at the back of his mind.  
\- Kai, for the love of god, don't fall asleep just yet. 

Off course – Ren was his perfect opposite when it came to this, and he forces his eyes open, to gaze directly into the redhair's wide grin. He'd always described his own climax as the grand finale to a prodigy's concerto ; which left him still riding on the momentum of the applause even after the end, energized. He grumbles.  
\- Have you ..? he asks, trying not to sound too sleepy.  
\- I have. You just weren't paying much attention to it, Ren pouts back.  
He smiles in response. He was truly glad, that they'd managed to both enjoy themselves ; and it seems to throw Ren off for a second.  
(that sincere smile of his – hadn't showed up in quite a while.)  
\- Anyway, you need to get up. I wanna to take my shower with you, he quickly picks up to dissipate his strange feeling.

Sure.  
They walk to the bathroom together ; he's still in a sleepy haze, and Ren, looking as if he's about to start singing any moment, which he actually does once they start showering. He knew the place more than anyone – Ren's large, italian-style shower was comfortable enough to welcome the both of them and still have room for more, which is why they never bothered to take turns back when they were dating – and the rows of beauty products are ultimately familiar, from Ren's particular brand of peach-scented shampoo, to his body peels, body lotion and the plain conditionner he used as a finishing touch once his complicated rituals were done.  
Which is exactly why he takes it upon himself to wash Ren's hair – he knows the order, from shampoo to lotion to second lotion to conditionner, and in exchange, the redhair massages every single one of his sore spots with shower gel. There's no tension to it ; it's just a routine that eases them both, and one more step to feeling clean and peaceful.  
When he's brushing Ren's hair, he can feel the caress of waves on the shores again in his heart, aligning with the motion of the brush, the sea strangely similar to the long, silky red strands. They switch place for Ren to blowdry his own brown mess quickly – he does a wonderful, useless job of styling it, more for his own amusement than anything.  
The noise in his ears doesn't disturb his daydreams.  
(Shores, waves and wind,  
somehow, the image sticks with him.)

They move on to his bedroom – he's ready to get into Ren's bed immediatly, but the redhair stops him and puts pijamas into his hands, you're not supposed to catch a cold, remember, so he obliges. He usually tried to keep his nightwear to a minimum – yet, everything Ren owned was comfortable, fitted and made in the softest fabric, enough that it didn't warrant complaining on his part. He slides under the bed covers, and sleep catches him almost instantaneously.  
He doesn't hear what Ren says next, as he takes place next to him and turns on his 3DS – aftersex pokemon hunt wasn't that bad of a hobby in his book.  
But he doesn't pay attention to the game in the first few seconds, gazing at his slumbering friend again.  
Muttering «you're gonna be just fine » under his breath. 

(It had to start out like this, with just a few hours, then, before he'd realize it, it would be days, then weeks, hopefully growing out to become months where he would forget the thing that hurt him so deeply, carried away by the pace of living, of loving, of the rising sea that eventually smoothed out every single grain of sand and every single memory of pain.)


End file.
